From The Ashes of Phoenix
by Jo Z. Pierce
Summary: Agent Bill Maxwell suffers through betrayal. Set in Phoenix, AZ, PreSeries, 1969 to 1975. Explains what happened to Bill's wife. Rated T for mild language and sexual situations.
1. Los Angeles, August 1983

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for tGAH; I borrow them out of love, and purely for entertainment purposes only. I make no profit from their use.

_**Los Angeles, August 1983**_

"I can't stand this anymore, Bill. I need to get another job!" Ralph Hinkley, former school teacher, and now full time superhero, was at his wit's end. After losing his tenure case a few months earlier, he had spent months trying to find a new teaching position. He loved Whitney High, and was devoted to his students, but it was clear that he could not return there as long as his nemesis, Mr. Knight, remained in the position of school principal.

"Well, Ralph, you _could_ join the F.B.I. We always need good field agents!" Special Agent Bill Maxwell, Bill's partner in the superhero business, had been trying to get Ralph to quit his teaching job for many years. Ralph couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"Bill, I'd never pass the lie detector tests."

Bill laughed at his partner. "Just wear the magic jammies underneath! A little white paper, a little push! No problem!"

Ralph looked at his partner. He still couldn't tell if he was joking.

"The thing is, Bill, I don't want to lose Pam over this."

Bill looked out the windshield. Although he was driving, he seemed distracted by his partner's comment. Finally, he shook his head, adding that Pamela Hinkley, or the Counselor as Bill liked to call her, was "good troops." She'd get through this, Bill assured Ralph.

"But what if she can't, Bill?"

"She got through the magic jammies, Ralph. You think she couldn't get through your employment problems? Come one. She's a good dame, uh, woman. She'll stand by you. You're lucky, kid. Never forget that."

Ralph looked out the right hand passenger window. "Yeah... what would you know?" As soon as the words passed through his lips, he realized how cold that comment was. He had no idea that the words were more than cold. They hit his partner like a block of ice.

"Believe me. I know."

Ralph never knew what had happened to Bill's wife. For many years, he assumed Bill had always been a bachelor, and generally unlucky with the ladies. When he realized his partner had once been married, but never spoke about her, he assumed the worst. Bill Maxwell, he figured, was a lonely widower, desperately trying to forget his loss by immersing himself in his work.

"Bill, you never told me about your wife. What happened?"

Bill Maxwell held tightly onto the steering wheel. As much as he trusted his partner, there were some things, some memories, that were just too hard to talk about.

"Nothing, kid. Nothing."

_Continued_


	2. Phoenix, December 1969

**_Phoenix, December 1969_**

It was unusually hot for a December, and Bill Maxwell wasn't used to hot winters anymore. But after almost five years in Detroit, he was happy to move back to a warmer clime. He had been doing well as an agent in the Motor City, but he was always concerned that the town was too tough for his beautiful and precious wife, Lillian. When the opening for a field agent opened in Phoenix, he immediately put in for the transfer. Not surprisingly, given his superior track record, his application was pushed to the top of the pile.

As he walked into his new supervisor's office, he was greeted with a warm smile and a firm handshake.

"We're glad to have you with us, Maxwell!"

"Well, thank you sir, Mr. Klein! I'm glad to be on board!"

Klein sat down in his chair, and motioned for Bill to sit down too. He was friendly, and wanted to make sure his new agent felt at home. Klein picked up the phone and dialed.

"This is Klein. Come to my office." After hanging up, Klein pulled out a cigarette, lit up, and offered one to the younger agent. Bill accepted, and pulled out his own lighter. The two men shared an ashtray, as they made friendly small talk.

"Have you settled in yet, Maxwell?"

"My wife is setting things up. We found a nice place in town. Fireplace, a pool. My wife's all excited. You know how excited dames get, hanging up new curtains..."

Klein smiled knowingly. "Well, she's gonna love Phoenix. It's a great town!"

"Well, sir, I'm just lucky the position came open."

"Yeah, we all sure miss Smitty. But remember this, Maxwell. Luck had nothing to do with it. There were plenty of guys ahead of you, most with a lot more seniority. But I saw your record, Maxwell, and decided you were the one."

Bill smiled, confident that he had once again been recognized as a shining star in the Bureau. He sat up straight, at attention.

"I've been hearing good things about you, Maxwell. Lots of good things.You'll fit in here just fine. Just stick by me, and things will go nice and smooth."

"Well, you can count on me, sir." Bill's enthusiasm was surpassed only by his obvious sense of loyalty and duty.

"That's what I thought, Maxwell."

There was a knock at the open door. Bill turned in his seat to find an older man walk in.

"Mark Campbell. This is your new partner, Bill Maxwell. He's just in from Detroit. I want you to show him the ropes, get him used to how we do things here. And show him around Phoenix a bit. Have him help you on some of your cases, while we break him in."

The older man was quiet and more than cooperative, as he nodded at everything Klein said. Bill held out his hand to his new partner. Campbell accepted it, and firmly shook it.

"Now Campbell, I want you to take care of Agent Maxwell, here. I have a feeling he's my new shining star."

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"Well, it's good to know you too, Larry!"

Bill Maxwell held out his hand and accepted the handshake of the used car salesman. New in town, Bill had been shaking a lot of hands lately. Larry looked back at Bill and his wife, standing closely besides him. He tried to figure the couple out. After all, he was hoping to make a sale to the man in a suit and his perfectly manicured wife.

"So, what are you looking for, Bill?"

The tall agent looked straight over Larry's head. He was at least a half foot taller. As Bill scanned the car lot, trying to gauge what the salesman had to offer, Larry looked passed Bill, gazing at the woman standing next to him.

She was about the same age as Larry, and exactly the same height, although that was aided by a pair of proper brown shoes with two inch heels. She wore a neat, handmade rust colored polyester pant suit with flaring leg openings. Tidy, and put together, the only daring part of her wardrobe was a white polyblend blouse, distinguished by a large bow tied neatly at her collar bone. Her hair, blonde and neatly coiffed, sat just above her shoulders. She was the model of the modern, but conservative woman; and she stood confident, so long as it was part of her husband's plan.

"Well," Bill responded, hesitantly, after thinking for a moment. "Maybe a second car. You know, something for the little lady here. Something..."

"Something pretty...?" Larry added, finishing his sentence. He smiled at the woman, hoping that she would be able to influence the sale.

"Oh, yeah, sure. You know how the girls like a pretty car. But something, you know, reliable. A good engine. Easy on the pocketbook."

Larry knew what that meant. The cheapest car on the lot. He had to bring it around to her court.

"So, Bill, will you be bringing your wife by to look at the cars, or will your daughter here be making the decision for her?"

It was the oldest line in the book, but it worked every time. Bill groaned and rolled his eyes. He shook his head as he thought about every cheap line a car salesman would go through to make an extra buck or two. Turning his back on the salesman, he didn't notice that Lillian began to blush.

"Oh, no, Larry!" Lillian Maxwell began, with a giggle. "I'm his wife. Fifteen years, last October."

"Really? No kidding! You must have married just out of high school...!"

Bill, not interested in either waxing sentimental, or in watching the salesman's little game play itself out, had already started walking through the lot, checking out paint jobs and kicking in tires.

"Hey, Lillian. What do you think of this one?" Bill pointed to a white Chevy, about 7 or 8 years old, whose main selling point was the sticker price. He put his hand on the roof as he circled and inspected it, like a rubber ball tethered to a paddle with string.

"Wow. Lillian, would you look at this? Back in Detroit, a car like this would have rusted out years ago!"

Larry looked at Bill pop open the hood of the white Chevy. It was clear that he knew what he wanted, so the salesman decided not to waste his time.

"So, Lillian... Can I call you Lillian? You just moved here from Detroit?"

The woman was a bit taken back by Larry's attention. Over the past 3 months, it seemed that Bill had been too preoccupied with his new transfer to pay much attention to his bride. And here, in Phoenix, she hadn't had time, nor the transportation, to make new friends yet. She was glad to at least have someone new to talk to.

"Yes, we were there for a few years. And Los Angeles before then. It seems we are always moving these days."

"Oh, yeah, Lil! This is nice!" Bill called out in a voice muffled by the inner workings of an engine.

"It's really very different here..." Lillian continued, as she looked at Bill, but talked to Larry. "Everything is so spread out! You can't really walk anywhere. "

"Something you just jump back and forth to the grocery store in!" Bill had no idea that Lillian was beginning her own conversation across the lot. "You'll make some new friends. You can go play bridge with, whenever you want! "

Larry and Lillian looked at each other, and both smiled. Larry leaned down and whispered "I could try to talk him into something else, but I think he has his heart set on that one."

"Well, I've learned something about my husband over all these years. When Billy gets his mind set on something, he usually gets it."

_Continued_


	3. Phoenix, September 1971

_**Phoenix, September 1971**_

F.B.I. Agents Campbell and Maxwell crouched behind the counter of the dirty desert diner. Ceramic shards and hot drops of coffee rained down on them, as bullets flew over head.

"I've got three more years till retirement," Campbell shouted out to Maxwell. Although they were close together, the sounds of guns firing and the screams of the young waitresses made it difficult to even hear the pounding of their accelerated heartbeats.

"My wife and I came down here for the weather, and nice real estate. Look what we get! Dirtbags and drug runners!"

Bill looked at his partner. He was getting old, and probably appreciated desk duty more and more with every passing day. Still, he was a good shot. As the bullets came to a momentary pause, Bill nudged his partner, silently giving him a signal meaning "Quick, cover me, I'm going in while they're busy reloading."

Campbell quickly stood up, and rested his elbows on the laminated countertop, steadying his aim. He fired several shots across the metal frame diner. Bill, still crouched on the ground, crawled across the floor down the length of the counter until he made it to the door to the kitchen. Checking to make sure his partner still had him covered, he quickly rushed into the kitchen just in time to see a tall long-haired man in jeans and a t-shirt dragging a screaming, frightened waitress through the back service entrance.

"Oh, no you don't, Jackie Baby..."

Racing after them, he stopped in his tracks just as he left the diner. Standing behind a car, the thug held up a pistol at the woman's temple, as he fumbled at opening the door.

"You better let me go, copper, or I'm gonna have to waste this pretty lady!"

Bill, knew a hostage situation was the last thing he wanted. "Let her go, Jack. It'll go down a lot easier on you if you do. You don't wanna add kidnapping to drug running now, do you?"

"You're in no position to negotiate, man!" Jackie yelled back, as he pushed the pistol against her head, making a sharp indentation in her skin. "Drop your gun!"

Bill, without an alternative, dropped his weapon and held up his hands. The waitress was pushed into the front seat while her captor kept an eye on the agent.

"Kick the gun away!" Jackie yelled at Maxwell. "Kick it back towards the diner." Running out of scenarios, the agent kicked the weapon away, as he watched the thug kick at the girl, forcing her over to the other side of the front seat.

"Now over there..." The thug directed Maxwell to move, as he climbed into the car. Jackie fumbled with his keys with his right hand, and held a gun towards Maxwell with the left. He didn't notice the girl reaching for the passenger side door handle. As she opened the door to escape, he turned to fire at her. It was just enough time for Bill to reach for his second sidearm, draw, and fire.

Campbell rushed out to the back parking lot, only to find Maxwell standing over the girl. He could tell his young partner was angry at both the dead assailant, and at himself. Campbell knew Maxwell would feel guilty that he couldn't stop what had just happened.

"Jackie's dead. She's shot, but not serious." Maxwell applied pressure to the girl's arm. "What about his friends inside?"

Campbell almost laughed. "I got the two of them handcuffed in a booth."

"Good, Campbell," Bill said, as if he had suddenly received a field promotion. "Go call for some backup."

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Bill slowly walked out of Klein's office, crossed the hall, and headed for his desk. By the look on his face, he had been severely reprimanded.

"What did he have to say, Bill?"

"Nothing."

Campbell could tell that was far from the truth.

"Bill, don't let Klein get to you. Listen to me. He's a real jerk!"

Bill turned to his partner, and shot him an angry look. Although they had been through a lot together over the past few months, he couldn't understand why Campbell hated Klein so much.

Gaining his composure, Bill straightened his suit jacket and took a deep breath. "He says I should have called in for back up sooner."

"What does he know, Bill? He wasn't there. I was. You did what had to be done! You did it all by the book!"

"He says that there was no need for Jackie to be killed." Bill bit his lower lip, took in another deep breath, and nodded his head. "I messed up, Campbell. I did." He turned his back on Campbell, pulled out a cigarette from his suit pocket, and lit up.

"And you really think that's why he's upset." By the tone of Campbell's voice, it was more of a statement than a question. "Maybe he's upset that we closed the case before he could show up on the scene."

Bill was somewhere between angry and depressed. "What are you talking about? I messed up! That's all. He says I'm lucky he doesn't throw the book at me." Bill looked at his partner, took another puff at his cigarette, rubbed it out. With one last look at his partner, Bill headed for the elevator and left the building.

Campbell stood in the office, looking around at all the other agents seated at their desks. They all stared up at him, having witnessed what had just happened. They knew if someone was going to tell Maxwell what Klein was doing, it should come from Campbell. They all felt disappointed that Bill was unwilling to listen to reason.

The young agent, bound by duty, was unswayed in his loyalty to his commander and boss. And no one, not even his partner, could convince him otherwise.

_Continued_


	4. Phoenix, May 1972

_**Phoenix, May 1972**_

Upon Lillian's request, Larry and Shirley arrived at the Maxwell's house a few minutes early. The woman, a thirty-something year old blonde with tall curls and a handmade knitted tube dress, stood at the door with a Corelle casserole dish, filled with tuna and noddles.

"Lillian! Hi!" She blew kisses at her friend, as she handed her the warm dish.

"And where's my favorite G-Man, Lillian?" Larry asked, as he walked into the house, in a sharp looking, multicolored leisure suit.

"Oh, he's working late again." She led her two friends into the kitchen. The house was spotless and tidy, although the ceilings were beginning to turn pale yellow from nicotine stains.

Larry looked at his wife, Shirley, and shook his head. "I don't understand how Billy can leave such a pretty girl home alone every night." Grabbing his wife and kissing her on the neck, he added "I know I couldn't!"

Lillian sighed, but came to her husband's defense. "You know he's working late, Larry. He's trying to close his cases! You know, it's because of my husband -and men like him- that the streets of Phoenix are safe!"

Shirley looked at her friend and smiled. Her smile, however, hid feelings of sympathy. This was not the first time Bill had not shown for a dinner party. Larry and Shirley were her closest friends in Phoenix. They were completely supportive, and they knew that Bill was rarely there for Lillian anymore. Over the years, he had slowly become distant, angry and bitter, as his career began to slide downhill.

"Lillian," Shirley began, as Larry went out to find himself a drink. "You can't go on like this. He's been a wreck for years. It's no secret what it's doing to you. And what he's doing to himself. He's not the same man. You have to face that fact."

"Oh, Shirl! Bill is just in a little bit of a slump! Soon, he'll pick himself up and be as good as new!"

Shirl hated to see her friend in denial, but listened as she tried to justify Bill's countless missed engagements and his deepening depression.

"Oh, Shirl!" Lillian added, as if reminding a small child of her chores. "You know he had that bad fall out with his partner last year. Don't you remember? Campbell? He tried to get Bill to turn on their boss! Well, you know how loyal Bill is. I think that was really hard on him. It's taking him a long time to get over that."

Shirley looked at her friend, and simply nodded her head. The doorbell rang. Lillian's party was beginning, and it was certain that she would need some help tonight.

_Continued_


	5. Phoenix, November 1974

_**Phoenix, November 1974**_

Bill walked in the front door, exhausted from a long day. And by the look on his face, it was clear that the day wasn't over yet.

"Come on Bill. You're gonna be late. Larry and Shirl are having us over for dinner. It's a Fondue party."

"Fon-deeeeeew? What are you talking about, Lil? What is that? Were's dinner?"

"Aw, Bill. I told you last week. Larry and Shirley are having a fondue party at their place tonight. We were all supposed to be there. Don't tell me you forgot again?"

"Uh, sorry, darlin. I don't have time tonight. Tell them I'm sorry. They'll understand." As Bill talked, he made a straight line for the kitchen, and poked his head in the refrigerator.

"What? Nothing to eat? Not even left overs? Come on, Lil! I'm starving here. You got a sandwich, maybe?"

"Bill, I can't tell them that. You missed the last three parties, and more than few dinners. I'm tired of going to these things alone."

Bill poked his head out of the kitchen with a piece of bread, smeared with butter. "Come on, Lil! I'm working on a big case. I don't have time to sit around a table and have voodoo food."

"It's fondue, Bill. Not voodoo."

"Yeah, poking little sticks into the bread? It sounds like voodoo to me..."

Years ago, Lillian would have giggled at one of Bill's little jokes. She was surprised that he was in an uncharacteristically good mood. But once again, she knew her husband was about to disappoint her. Bill returned to the kitchen, looking through the mostly empty fridge, as if staring long enough could make cold cuts spontaneously appear.

"Come on, Lil. I gotta get back to the office. Didn't you go shopping yet? There is nothing here! What's this..." Bill pulled out an avocado green Tupperware bowl. Cradling it in his arms, he popped open its cover and watched the gelatinous mass wobble back and forth in its green container.

"Leave the Ambrosia Jello alone, Bill. I'm bringing it to the party tonight."

With a sigh, he pressed the cover back on, then put it back into the fridge. "Lil, you know I have to get this one... I don't know what happened to that last one... I... uh, I..." he cleared his throat...

"You messed up?"

Bill poked his head around the corner, looking out of the kitchen again at his wife, as she poured herself a drink by the bar and puffed on a cigarette.

"I did NOT mess up!"

"Then why did Klein have to bail you out, again?"

Bill stared at his wife. He was angry that she would bring that up, but deep inside he knew she was right. That was the tenth big case since he got to Phoenix that he had screwed up.

Still, he was grateful that his boss liked him so much. Bill was, in fact, his favorite agent. Klein had told him so. And every time Bill messed up a case, he'd apologize to Klein. His boss, in return, would pat him on the back, put his arm around his shoulders, and tell him how much faith he had in him.

"You're a good agent, Maxwell," Klein would always say, although lately Bill wasn't sure if that was true. Klein was supportive, always reassuring Maxwell that he wouldn't hold this last incident against him. And he never did. Bill kept getting new chances to solve the big, important cases.

"Don't worry, Bill. We look out for our own. Always remember that."

Listening to his stomach growl, Bill once again focused on his wife. "You know, ever since you've been hanging out with Shirl and Larry, I haven't had a decent, homemade meal!" He pointed a finger at his wife, and shook it.

"You know, I should have bought you a bicycle. Why can't you just fix me something quick?"

"I'm busy," she said, as she inhaled the smoke from her cigarette, sipped at her sherry, and stared at the wall.

"Geez, Lil! Your husband's out there, pounding the streets. Day in, day out. All he asks for is a nice dinner when he gets home! Could you do that for me, Lil? Could you?"

"When he gets home?" Lillian was infuriated. Without thinking, she threw her glass across the room. The dark golden wine splashed against the blonde wood paneling, and the glass shattered into a million shards as it crashed against the wall.

"I never know when, or even _if_, you're coming home anymore!" She fought back tears, trying to control the emotions he'd unleashed. "Bill, half the time, you just call me up, and tell me you're working late, again. And for what? You work late, but can't even close a damned case!"

Calm and composed, the agent bottled up his hurt and his anger as best he could. "Come on Lil. Would you lay off? This is the one!"

She turned her back on Bill, and began to sob. She hoped that he would come over and wrap his arms around her. That was always how these fights ended. She had gotten used to the routine, since the screaming matches and tossed china events were happening more and more frequently.

"Aw, come on Lil," Bill cried out. Only this time, he turned his back on her, too, and walked back into the kitchen. "You've been married to me all this time, and now you don't know the drill? I've always worked late. Lil! I work late. I go on stake outs. You remember, don't you? With Harlan... Teddy... BoBo...? You never complained before. Not once! What happened to my good, old, reliable Lillian?"

Those final words echoed in her head. Good. Old. Reliable. Like a cheap used car.

"You never complained before," Bill repeated.

"Bill," she whispered "it's never been like this before." She stood there, crying, as Bill stormed out the front door.

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"Bill, what are you doing here? You don't have night watch tonight."

"I gotta close this case, Sammy. My witnesses are willing to testify, the smugglers are ..."

"Bill, don't bother..." said Sammy, the middle-aged agent on night duty. He tossed down his pen, and shook his head as he looked at Bill Maxwell.

"What do you mean, don't bother?" Bill tossed a brown paper bag into the garbage. The greas from a cheap hamburger lingered on his fingers. He wiped them on his pants. "I'm gonna nail these guys tomorrow! They'll never know what hit 'em!" Bill laughed, knowing this would be the case he could finally redeem his career with.

"Bill. Didn't you hear? The case is already closed. Your boys are already locked up. Downtown."

"What do you mean, solved?" He laughed, uncomfortably. He searched his desk for the paperwork.

"Klein wrapped it up, about an hour ago. After he sent you home for dinner."

Bill continued to look for the folder and his paperwork, incredulous.

"Bill," Sammy said, hating to be the one to break the news. "Klein has taken your case, and has put his name on it. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I was just about to close this. The file was right here!" Bill walked to the back of the room, and opened a file cabinet, hoping he had simply misplaced the file.

"I know you like him, Bill, but _First In Line Klein_ isn't doing you any favors. If you know what I mean."

Bill stood at the open drawer of the filing cabinet. His fingers, just a moment before furiously walking through the manila envelopes, now rested motionless on the cabinet door.

"Come on Bill. You're not a rookie anymore...Did you really think you messed up on _all_ those big cases?"

Staring blankly at the cabinets in front of him, Bill realized the price he had paid for his years of loyalty. He turned around, closing the drawer. His eyes scanned the near empty office, as if to see if anyone else was a witness to this revelation.

"Boy, he sure had you pegged. Bill. Come on! You know that Campbell tried to tell you, all those years ago. But you never listened. You think he liked losing a good partner like you?"

"Nah! Campbell was old," Bill stated, as a matter of fact. "He was ready for desk duty. That's why they broke us up."

"No, Bill. Campbell just wanted to stay out of Klein's way. He'd gotten burned too many times with Klein's slash and burn tactics. All he wanted at that point was to put in a few more years until he could collect his pension."

Bill shook his head, and searched through his paperwork, again.

"Have you ever wondered how a man who never leaves his office can close on so many high profile cases?"

"Get real. He's the boss! He's got the experience. He's got..." Bill looked for the files on his desk again.

"Bill. He's got first dibs, that's what he's got. On all our cases. You just happen to be the best agent here, so you just get burned the most."

Finally realizing the magnitude of the betrayal, Bill looked around the empty office, as if trying to find an explanation.

"The Ortega Kidnapping?"

Sammy nodded.

"The Phoenix Arsonist?"

Another nod.

"We call him _First In Line Klein_, Bill. All the good cases are his, and he gets first dibs."

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Bill Maxwell stood by the fireplace, facing the mantle. In one hand he held a bottle of Wild Turkey Bourbon. In the other was a glass; it was clean and unused. Not even realizing it, Bill was drinking straight from the bottle.

Lillian shut the front door behind her as she walked into the dimly lit house. From the dimly lit hallway, she looked into the living room, and noticed the broken glass still on the floor. Without much feeling, she simply said "I'll clean that up tomorrow."

As she turned to make her way to the bedroom, she heard him speak.

"He's been stealing my cases, Lil. Not covering my ass. He's been stealing them. Right from under my nose."

Lillian turned around and looked at her husband. Deep down, she felt sorry for him. The once confident, aggressive and strong man she had married so many years ago was a lost soul, standing all alone against the wall. At that moment, the tall man seemed small, defeated, and tragic. His voice was soft and surprisingly insecure, and slurred by the affects of alcohol.

"He waits until I am just about to close. Then, all nice, he rides in. Just like the cavalry. BAM! He grabs 'em."

"Bill," she began, cautiously. "Larry hit on me tonight."

"I can't believe it," Bill said.

Lillian was not sure if he was responding to her, or if he was still absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Bill," she repeated, "Larry hit on my tonight." This time, the words came across her lips slowly.

Bill turned to his wife. His eyes weren't fully focused on her, and he didn't seem upset at her comment. She wondered what he would say. Although she thought nothing would surprise her at this point, she was in fact disappointed by his response.

"I'll make it to the party next time, darlin. I promise."

"Bill," she repeated slowly, and clearly annunciating . "Larry. Made a pass. At me. Tonight."

"Five years, Lil." Bill took another sip of his bourbon, pursed his lips, then drew his eyebrows into a knot on his forehead. "He's been stealing my cases for five years! And you know what the kicker is? Everyone else knew about it. And not one guy down there told me. Not one guy. Just Campbell. And I didn't listen. I didn't believe him." He took another sip of bourbon. "And I turned on him. I got burned by Klein, and I turned on my own partner. The man covered me. He would have taken a bullet for me. And I turned on him."

"Bill, have you heard a word I said?"

It was clear that Bill was not listening to Lillian at all. For almost five years he had been distant, and completely obsessed with his work. He was not simply the dedicated agent he had always been. It wasn't simply the enthusiasm of a rookie that he had, back when they lived in L.A. And it wasn't the pride and bravado he had as a top notch agent in Detroit. He was simply obsessed.

For the past few years, she stood by him, watching the tragedy unfold. She could do nothing as he increasingly threw himself into his work. There was no advice she could offer anymore as he grew more and more bitter with each supposed "failure" and "botched case." Still, the best years of her own life were quickly slipping through her fingers, and all her hopes of finally starting a family were being washed away by bottle after bottle of cheap bourbon.

She still wanted to tell her husband all that happened that night. Maybe she'd leave out some of the details. After all, she didn't need to explain how she pretended to have a dead car battery. Bill really didn't need to know about the calculated ruse designed to get Larry to drive her home. Perhaps the details of their bodies entwined in the back of a 1969 Rambler on his used car lot would be too harsh to share.

And it was completely unnecessary to tell him about how she'd released four years worth of sexual tension, all in the back of that brown station wagon.

The torn dress. The tangled hair. The broken heel. They all should have clearly outlined for Bill every thrust, moan and scream Lillian shared with Larry that night. Yet, he didn't even notice her standing in the hallway.

Lillian looked at her husband. She was angry that he was ignoring her. Despite her feelings of guilt, she was genuinely angry. The man she once loved was completely uninterested in why she had arrived home well past 4 am in the morning.

She softly confessed to her husband, in a final attempt to gain his attention.

"Bill, Larry made a pass at me tonight, and I didn't say no."

"_First In Line Klein_, they call him," Bill answered as he took another sip of bourbon. "I just can't figure out how I missed it."

_Continued_


	6. California, April 1975

_**California, April 1975**_

Bill Maxwell sat next to his former partner, Harlan Blackford. The two made themselves as comfortable as possible in a pair of old lawn chairs outside the metal trailer that Harlan called home.

"Bill, I could really use someone back here to help me out every now and then. It's been hard here, ever since this happened..." Harlan pointed to his dark sunglasses. He tried not to use the word "blind" too often in front of Bill. His former partner had been through a lot recently. Harlan's blindness didn't help matters at all.

"What are you talking about, Harlan? You don't need anyone. You're still the best shot in the whole damned state!"

"Come on, Bill. You can put in for a transfer. And they all know you here. They _know_ you're a real good, top notch, Grade A Fed."

"Harlan, I've got a kill record of 22. I'm all washed up."

"And you average that with what you had back here in the L.A. office? And with your ratio back in Detroit? You're still above national average!"

The two sat silently for a few minutes. Finally, Harlan spoke.

"You remember Johnny the Dancer? That guy you've been after, since Detroit?"

Bill looked at Harlan, nodding his head. He finally remembered that from now on he would need to provide verbal answers.

"Yeah, Harlan. I remember."

"Well, then I bet you know he just moved out to L.A. Way I figure, I think he could really use a babysitter. Someone to check in on him, from time to time."

"The way my track record is going, Harlan?"

"Well, Billy, I have to thank you. You're so damned depressing, it makes my situation look a whole lot brighter." Harlan raised his hands to his glasses, reminding his former partner that things could be a whole lot worse.

"It wouldn't be the same, Harlan. Who am I going to go treasure hunting with on my weekends?" He paused, about to say what Harlan already knew. "And Lil's left me, you know. She took off, with a used car salesman named Larry. Straight to Vegas."

Harlan was dying to make a wise crack. "You never were good enough for her, anyway" came to mind. But Harlan didn't have the heart to kick his friend when he was so down. Instead, he decided to change the subject.

"You're smoking now, Billy?"

Bill was silent. He had gotten so used to it, he didn't smell the nicotine on his own clothes anymore.

"Only when I'm drinking, Harlan."

"Well, that's gotta stop, Bill. No more drinking. No smoking. And no more feeling sorry for yourself!"

"Harlan, I got kicked in the garbanzos by everyone that ever mattered to me."

Insulted and furious, Harlan took his cane and whipped it around. Not knowing exactly where it would land, he was glad that it landed straight in Bill's lap, and not on the head.

With a grunt, and through gritted teeth, Bill corrected himself. "Everyone but you, old man."

Harlan corrected his young friend and former partner, as he went down the list of good buddies in the L.A. area who were anxious to have Bill back in town.

"And don't forget," Harlan added. "Your old friend Tracy Winslow is here, too. So who cares about Phoenix, anyway?"

Bill sat back in the garden chair, and thought about the possibilities. Perhaps L.A. was ready to welcome back F.B.I. Agent Bill Maxwell. And perhaps Bill Maxwell was finally ready to come home.

_The End_


End file.
